


Destined To Be

by InfectiousKpop



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Reality, If GOT7 Didn't Happen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-14 18:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7185947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfectiousKpop/pseuds/InfectiousKpop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all know how things turned out when Mark Tuan and Jackson Wang pursued lives as JYP trainees, but what would have happened if they never entered the K-Pop world? Three years after participating in his first-ever Olympics, Jackson is balancing the life of professional international athlete and the class load of a typical junior at Stanford.</p><p>When his roommate of three years invites him down to Los Angeles for a few weeks during summer vacation, Jackson can't turn up the opportunity. He thinks it's going to be a calm, rather uneventful change of scenery. But a shy boy with an interest in things no one's ever asked about suddenly makes his entire world turn upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Party

**Author's Note:**

> I've been kind of musing over this idea ever since Jackson revealed he'd been scouted by Stanford before he joined GOT7. The fact that San Francisco and LA are just a few hours apart was pretty much demanding that a "what if" fic get written. Then, when the LA photo book pictures resurfaced on my tline, I could think about anything besides this idea. So here it is!

Los Angeles was everything Jackson had expected. A city that was always alive and bustling, no matter what time it was. Even the airport buzzed with people in the middle of the night. He’d flown in on a red eye flight from San Francisco, since missing practice wasn’t an option. Taking a few weeks of vacation in the first place was almost unheard of this close to the Olympics. He could still hear his father’s voice.  _ “Rio is only a year away, Jia Er. You need to train every second you can. You have to do better than last time.” _

It couldn’t exactly be called a vacation, anyway. He promised to attend training for at least two hours a day, as well as keep up his fitness regimen, which meant plenty of time at the gym. He really had to accept the little victories as they came, though. Getting his father and coach to agree to let him train in LA for a few weeks was, by all means, a victory.

“Jackson!” A shadowed figure jogged over as Jackson stepped out into the pickup area. He didn’t need to see the guy’s face to know who it was. He heard the voice enough to recognize it in his sleep. 

“Do you have to be so loud, David?” Jackson complained. “It’s so early.”

Before coming to America, Jackson has always been told that no one could ever possibly be as loud as him. But, by some sort of lucky draw - or unlucky, depending on who you asked - Jackson got roomed with David his freshman year. The two were easily the loudest people in their class, never worrying about how or when to express themselves. They just did. Since then, they’d stuck together, knowing that there would never be anyone else that could put up with them. It was a match made in college roommate heaven.

David just laughed and grabbed the handle of Jackson’s huge rolling suitcase. “My brother’s down here,” he said, nodding his head in the direction he’d just come from.

“Your brother?” Jackson asked, following along behind. “Why is he here?”

David shrugged and chuckled. “He just got his license, so he wants to drive whenever he can. Besides, he thought being able to say he drove an Olympian around would get him some bragging rights.”

The title still felt strange to Jackson. Olympian. He always knew it was coming, what with having Olympians as parents and all, but finally achieving the goal of even making it that far still felt unreal to him. Maybe it was because London was still all a blur in his memory.

 

 

Even though he still had to train, Jackson hadn’t actually thought about what he was going to do while he had free time. David’s invitation to stay at his parents house for a few weeks had been enough of a motivator to get him there. But David still had an internship, which took up most of his time during the week, and it wasn’t like Jackson knew anyone else in the area.

It was like David knew that Jackson wouldn’t have thought that far before coming, because Jackson woke up the next morning to a text from his roommate.

_ High school friend’s grad party tonight. You’re coming. Make some new friends. Leaving at 8, so be ready. _

It wasn’t that Jackson had difficulty making friends. Quite the opposite, usually. But in a city as huge and busy as Los Angeles, he had no idea where to start. A party, though, fit the bill perfectly.

Deciding to take the day off from training, he still took most of his morning visiting the studio his coach had approved of, watching the other fencers for a couple hours. Gauging future competition was key to having the upper hand in any match. Jackson had been taught to learn his opponent’s style before he even considered picking up his sabre.

“I really thought you would’ve started training today.” The clear, authoritative voice caught Jackson off guard, having been lost in his trance of evaluating the other athletes. He looked over to his side to see a man walking toward him, a gentle expression on his face.

“I wanted to take a day to get use to the new space, sir,” he said, standing and bowing respectfully. “I’ll return to formal training first thing tomorrow.” The man just laughed, waving a hand at Jackson as he stopped a comfortable distance away.

“Please, Jackson, sir makes me sound so old,” the man laughed. “Just call me Stan.” He held out his hand, which Jackson shook almost immediately. Stan glanced out at the room of uniformed athletes, moving back and forth among the practice mats. “Seen anyone you think could give you a run for your money?”

Of course Jackson hadn’t. While all the fencers in the studio were skilled, they were nowhere near Olympic level athletes. But he wasn’t here to criticize everyone else. “I’m sure there are some skilled opponents here,” he answered politely. That just made Stan laugh again.

The two situated themselves on a bench at the edge of the room, talking about training regimens and practice skills until a digital clock in the middle of the back wall buzzed loudly, signaling lunch time. Reassuring Stan that he wouldn’t be distracted by a class going on as he practiced, they agreed to keep a mat at the back of the room reserved for his use every morning, leaving him all the time after lunch for his other fitness routines.

With that, they parted ways, leaving Jackson on his own once again to figure out lunch. It only took him about half an hour to find an organic cafe nearby and eat lunch, leaving him with way more time than he could think to fill in his afternoon. Instead of going to a gym or worrying about any sort of equipment, he opted to go for a jog along the beach. He breathed in the salty air with each pounding step as he felt the occasional sea mist cool him down through his sweat-drenched tank top.

He found himself wondering more than once what kind of people would be at the party. Part of him suspected that they’d all be rich assholes. The kind that only liked Jackson because of his athletic achievements and not because of who he was. He’d been around enough people like that at Stanford. They tried to add him to their collection of friends, treating him like a thing to display in some friendship trophy case. It was something that he’d caught on to and learned to avoid within months.

A bigger part of him, the hopeful part, wished that the people at the party would be genuine and real; people that didn’t let the money get to their head, if they had any at all. Talking to people who were actually nice always made Jackson feel more comfortable.

He returned from his beachside jog just in time to shower and dig through his suitcase for a decent outfit before it was time to leave. David smirked a little as he looked over Jackson’s outfit, but opted to just turn away and open the front door without a word.

“Where are you going?” Jackson asked, fully expecting for his friend to head to the garage instead of out the front.

“He only lives a couple blocks away,” David replied, holding the door open behind him. “Better to walk, especially since I’m gonna be hammered later tonight.”

 

 

The house was already overflowing with people by the time they walked up to the front door, music pumping out from the garage door. Every room was filled with people holding plastic cups  and beer bottles, laughing and chatting in small groups. As they snaked their way toward the back of the house, they ran into a few couples frantically sucking face in the hallway, desperate to close every bit of distance between their bodies. Something about drunken PDA always gave Jackson second-hand embarrassment. Maybe it was the fact that every bit of passion was out in the open for everyone to see. Or maybe it was because it took something he’d always seen as an intimate moment and flipped that on it’s head. He wasn’t quite sure.

“DAVID!”

The yell parted people like the Red Sea, leaving a clear path for a stocky guy with a bowl cut and goofy, half-drunken smile to walk up to them. “I was wondering if you’d show up, man.” Immediately, the two grabbed hands, pulling each other in for a bro hug before quickly separating.

“You really thought I’d skip out on a party?” David joked. “I brought my roommate along. Hope you don’t mind.” He motioned back at Jackson who smiled and nodded in acknowledgement.

“The more, the merrier,” the guy chimed. “Drinks are in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

David didn’t need to tell Jackson the plan of action before they split up. The two had been to enough parties to know the drill. If either of them wanted to go home, they just left. Sticking around for the other, or even trying to find them in a party like this, would be more trouble than it was worth. Besides, they were both individuals. They could handle themselves.

The kitchen was filled with guys who’d appointed themselves as unofficial bartenders, mixing together concoctions for anyone who asked, and sometimes for those who didn’t. The steady stream of people entering and exiting the kitchen gave them enough customers to keep them busy and, in turn, quiet.

After watching the amateur mixologists for a few minutes, Jackson opted to stick with a beer. If he wanted his own drink later, he’d make sure that he made it himself. Taking a few quick sips, he moved into the living room, sidling up into an empty space against the far wall. A few minutes later, someone shifted into the open space next to him. Jackson didn’t look.

“Are parties usually this busy in LA?” he asked the person next to him, eyes still fixed on the room’s constantly-circulating occupants.

“Not from around here?” The voice that answered him made the hair on Jackson’s arms stand up on end. Lucky for him, they were hidden under the sleeves of his navy blue leather jacket. He desperately wanted to look at the owner of such a smooth, relaxed voice, but his body stayed frozen in place.

“I go to Stanford,” he replied.

“You must be a genius or something, then.”

“Nah. Athletic scholarship,” Jackson clarified.

The person hummed in acknowledgement. An uncertain silence fell between them before Jackson spoke again. “I got recruited for fencing. I’m originally from Hong Kong. What about you-”

But his words caught in his throat as he finally turned to look at the person next to him. The boy, stick thin with looks that could kill, was dressed simple enough. His plain white t-shirt and jeans looked like they’d been made specifically for him, hugging his frame in all the right places. His head of voluminous brown locks was styled up in an effortless sweep.

_ Get yourself together, _ Jackson thought, resisting the urge to smack himself in the face.  _ Why are you acting like this? You don’t even know the guy. What’s gotten into you? _

Noticing the unusual pause in Jackson’s words, the other glanced at him. His deep brown eyes grew wide as he saw Jackson staring back at him, clearly panicking for a minute before shifting his gaze back to the doorway.

“USC,” the boy muttered.

“What?” Jackson had completely forgotten what they’d been talking about before. The shock of his own reaction to the boy’s appearance had wiped all of his other thoughts.

“That’s where I go,” the boy said, still barely speaking. “USC.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Jackson said. He felt a little embarrassed, not knowing much about other schools aside from the ones he visited during team competitions. “So does that mean you’re from around here?”

The other boy nodded but, realizing that Jackson wasn’t looking at him anymore, breathed a quick “Yeah” out as well.

“I’m Jackson, by the way.” Jackson held out his hand, smiling brightly. A small part of his brain tensed up when the other boy’s fingers curled around his hand, shaking it.

“Mark,” he replied. “Have you always had an American name?”

The question surprised Jackson. His name wasn’t something people were usually interested in. He blinked, trying to figure out why the other was so curious about him. But Mark’s expression stayed neutral. There was only a slight, shy smirk stretched on his lips.

Jackson nodded. “I went to an international school in Hong Kong, so I used it a lot more than my Chinese name.”

He tried his best to smile lightheartedly, not wanting to think about the last time someone outside his family had called him by his other name. The tiny ache growing in his chest didn’t even make any sense. He didn’t usually even think about it, so why was he missing it so much now.

“What it is? Your Chinese name.”

Jackson choked on the swig of beer he’d just taken. Why was this quiet, amazingly attractive stranger so curious about him? About his background?

“Sorry,” Mark muttered, almost whispering. “I just- Forget I asked.” He shifted, about to step away, when Jackson grabbed his arm. He didn’t pull Mark closer or push him away, but just held him in place.

“It’s Jia Er,” he said. His name felt foreign on his lips. It’d been too long.

But even through all of the strange feelings, he noticed Mark smiling to himself, eyes fixed on the ground in front of them. “That’s…” he trailed off, unable to contain the small smile on his face.

“I’m Yi En.”


	2. A Distraction

The number in his phone must be a dream. The whole night must’ve been a dream. There was no way some random, ridiculously cute guy had stood against a wall, listening to Jackson talk all night, then proceeded to put his number in Jackson’s phone right before David drunkenly dragged him out the door to head home. It felt so impossible that, when he woke up the next morning, Jackson immediately reached for his phone. There, at the bottom of his contacts list, was a single Y name that separated itself from all the rest.

Yi En.

When he clicked the name, a tiny thumbnail version of a picture stared back at him. He hadn’t even noticed the other take a selfie, let alone realized he’d added it to the contact. Opening the full-screen version, Jackson gasped. They’d been in a packed house that had just about the worst lighting imaginable, but Mark had still managed to somehow take an almost flawless picture. Jackson would’ve started mumbling about how unfair it was that some people were blessed with unflappable beauty while he was stuck with just above average looks, at least in his opinion, but he was too busy gazing at the picture.

After a few minutes of shameless staring, he opened up a new text, quickly typing in Yi En’s name. He wasn’t the kind to just sit around and wait for someone else to make a move. Why waste time on pointless waiting when you could be getting to know each other? That had always been Jackson’s thought, at least. Sometimes, it didn’t go over so well, but he never let that bother him.

_Hey, it’s Jackson. From the party last night. How’s it going?_

Not expecting any sort of immediate response, he tossed the phone on the other end of the bed before slipping out from under the sheets. Despite the late night out, he still got up at dawn to run through the shower and eat a quick breakfast before jogging to the studio. Part of him was thankful it only took 15 minutes to get there, since running with a sabre and a backpack filled with protective clothing was a little awkward.

When he got to the studio, the lights inside had already been turned on, but the doors were still locked. Jackson knocked loud enough to be heard without being too obnoxious and waited. Stan peeked out from behind a door in the back corner, rushing over when he recognized who was at the door.

“Jackson,” he welcomed. “It’s six in the morning. I wasn’t expecting you until at least my first class got here.”

A blush of embarrassment swept across Jackson’s cheeks. To be honest, he hadn’t even thought about how early it was. At Stanford, he was able to train whenever he wanted, since he had unrestricted access to the building. “I’m sorry,” he said, bowing quickly. “I wasn’t thinking. I just kind of fell into my habits. I can come back later.”

“Nonsense,” Stan said. “You’re here now, so come in. My students could learn a thing or two from your dedication.”

He’d never really thought of getting up early to train as dedication so much as just a routine. Jackson’s father had always insisted they get up with the sun in order to maximize the amount of training that could get done in a day. Sleeping in had always been a luxury that was reserved for holidays like Christmas and his birthday.

Stan offered Jackson a cup of coffee, which he refused politely, before retreating back into the office he’d appeared from, leaving Jackson to his devices. Getting in a few hours of undisturbed drills, he was already well into his daily regimen of practiced lunges and footwork by the time students started arriving for the first class of the day. Most of them whispered among each other and pointed excitedly, clearly figuring out who he was without too much difficulty. No doubt they’d been told that there’d be a new person around for a few weeks.

The first class started and got under way smoothly before Jackson took a break, sitting on the floor next to his bag with his back against the wall. He dug out a bottle of water and his phone, thinking he’d just check Twitter and Instagram while he rested. A mouthful of liquid caught in his throat as he noticed the new message notification, Mark’s Chinese name clearly printed underneath.

_ Hey, man! I’m all good. You? Looks like you were up early. _

Jackson felt his heart start to race, noticing that Mark had replied just after 7:30 in the morning. That was still obnoxiously early for any college student, especially the morning after a house party. Now that he thought about it, though, Mark hadn’t really drank that much while he was with Jackson. In fact, he’d only sipped on whatever was in his cup, never once leaving to get something else. A smirk spread across Jackson’s lips as he realized that Mark had stuck around the whole time. That was, until David slumped over and ruined it all.

_ I’m always up early. Training never ends, you know? _

_ I was a little worried you wouldn’t remember who I was. Haha _

He’s not quite sure what embarrass-yourself spell he’d fallen under to send that last message, but it was too late to take it back now. Not that it wasn’t true. He was at least a tiny bit worried that maybe Mark had somehow been super wasted and forgotten everything. Or worse, he just chose to forget the annoying guy that had cornered him and wouldn’t stop talking. But he had texted back. He had kept up the conversation. Jackson felt lighter, the worry finally lifted from his back.

His phone vibrated within the minute, not even giving him the chance to put it down before he got a reply.

_ Training while on vacation. That sucks. _

_ I don’t put my number in just anyone’s phone. So yeah, I remember you. _

Somewhere along the line, the morning class got released for a quick water break. A handful of boys brave enough to approach Jackson asked him for his autograph, some even reenacting Jackson’s now-infamous lunge that had helped him make it into the Top 8 in London. It was humbling, seeing kids idolize him for the things he often got scolded for. His style wasn't exactly traditional, after all. But it's what had got him this far in his career, so he couldn't just abandon it because of a few stuffy people in the industry.

After a few minutes, the instructor called all the kids back, telling them to let Jackson train if they wanted him to continue doing well. Jackson just smirked at the statement, nodding in thanks at teenage teacher before glancing back down at his phone.

_ I was gonna go paddle boarding today. Wanna join? _

Jackson wasn't exactly sure what paddle boarding was, but the fact that Mark was even inviting him in the first place made his heart flutter a little. One quick Google search later, his curiosity was at an all-time high. It looked simple enough, and fun at that. Plus, he’d get to see Mark again, which was really the strongest draw. He bit his lip, trying to figure out a way to push off his afternoon conditioning to make something work. But no matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn't seem to work it out. He needed at least 3 hours of conditioning to stay on track, and he never worked out after dinner.

_ I have to do conditioning this afternoon. :/ _

Suddenly desperate for a distraction from the conversation, Jackson set his phone on the ground and returned to the other side of his practice mat. The less he thought about missing out on another chance to see Mark, the better. Passing his sabre from hand to hand a few times, he slipped his mask back on and continued with his exercises. The attempted distraction didn't work very well, though. As soon as his phone lit up again, Jackson raced over to it.

_ Paddle boarding doesn't count? It works your core and arms. I'll even race you, if you want. ;) _

Heat rushed through his neck as he read and re-read the text. He didn't know what to say, but the part of him that couldn't refuse grew larger and larger the more he thought about it. If it really did give him a bit of a workout, then he could count it, right? Besides, if his father asked, he'd just say he went swimming or something. That'd probably end up being closer to the truth than he realized anyway.

_ Sure, but I don't have any stuff for it. Don't I need a wetsuit or something? _

Concentration now completely ruined, Jackson returned to his place on the ground, phone cradled in his hands, and watched the class as they continued to practice proper foot position and arm angles.

_ No wetsuit needed. My brother's got a board and stuff you can use. Just meet me at the beach at noon. :) _

Jackson's heart clenched. Hands reaching for his sabre, he quickly packed everything up as neatly as he could before rushing out of the building. There was no use in trying to continue training now that all his attention was centered on where he would be in a few hours.

 

 

By the time Mark showed up at the beach, Jackson had already gotten an hour of conditioning done, using the wet sand where the tide rolled up to his advantage. Just before noon, he'd decided to wade around in the water to rinse some of the sand off. Once the water came up to mid-thigh, he turned around and noticed a familiar, stick-thin figure standing near the parking lot.

"Hey! Mark!" Jackson called, waving from where he stood. When the figure didn't turn around, he called again. "Hey! Yi En!" That got his attention. Spinning around, Mark squinted out at the ocean before spotting Jackson and waving back. He jogged down to the water, smile stretched across his face. Jackson tried his best not to be too obvious as he stared at Mark's exposed chest, flush inching up his neck. His muscles were so clearly defined, it almost made Jackson's mouth water with desire. He wasn’t completely unaffected by Mark’s appearance, after all. He had hormones that raged every now and then, too.

"How long have you been here?" Mark asked, standing at the edge of the water. When he didn't move any further, Jackson started walking toward the beach to meet him. He used his concentration on pulling his legs through the water as an excuse to soak in the sight of the other's exposed torso one more time before he fixed his eyes on Mark's face.

"Uhhh about an hour, I guess," Jackson answered. "I wanted to get a little of my regular conditioning in still."

Mark giggled. "Do you ever give yourself a day off?"

"It's not so bad," Jackson said, shrugging a little. "Training every day, I mean. Besides, I can't afford to take a break since qualifiers are coming up soon. My dad is breathing down my back about making sure I get a medal next year."

"Medal?" Mark tilted his head a little, an ever-curious puppy not quite understanding what Jackson had just said.

"Oh," Jackson muttered. He forgot that he hadn't told Mark at the party that he was an Olympian. Not like he was hiding it or anything. It had just slipped his mind. "Yeah, Olympic qualifiers start in a couple months."

Mark's eyes got wide as he heard that, but he didn't say anything. That was new. Usually people freaked out or started screaming or asked him a million and a half questions when they found out that he was an Olympian. But no one had ever stayed silent.

They both stood there, the only noise coming from the ebb and flow of the tide lapping against their ankles. After he seemed to process everything, Mark's eyes shifted down a little, looking just to the side of Jackson’s elbow. "Cool, well the boards are in my car." He gestured up at the only car in the parking lot.

"Nice mom mobile," Jackson said, making sure his tone was very clearly joking. Mark squinted at him and smacked Jackson's bicep playfully.

"I had to borrow my mom's car to fit the boards!" he protested. A squeal left Jackson's lips, high pitched and loud as can be, as the older hit him. That just made Mark's fake anger fade into a fit of laughter. Without another word, both of them started sprinting up to the parking lot full-speed. Just boys being boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you were ready for another chapter of this bad boy! I know some people may have forgotten about it, since I didn't even think about it that much after posting the first chapter. But after several terrible failed attempts at writing a smutty one shot, I saw a video of Jackson paddle boarding during Fighting Man recording and I instantly got inspired.
> 
> I really wanted to jump into the fight between Jackson's attraction to Mark and his routine that he's always been so loyal to his entire life. Obviously, it's gonna develop into a bigger struggle later on, but this is just the beginning. Baby steps. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. How do you think Markson's paddle board date went? Let me know in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm not really sure how long this is going to be. Maybe just a few chapters, maybe a never-ending tale. I guess we'll find out together.
> 
> Just as a heads up to everyone right now, this will probably be slower on updates. I still want to put most of my focus on Bringing Color and getting those chapters out somewhat regularly, and, believe it or not, I don't get paid to sit and write all day. I wish I did, but I don't.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked this opening chapter. Let me know what you think in the comments below.


End file.
